


trample me with ungrateful feet

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Stony Bingo 2018 [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Artist Steve Rogers, BAMF Tony Stark, Character Death, Character Death Fix, Florist Steve Rogers, Groundhog Day Shenanigans, Happy Death Day AU, Infidelity, M/M, Murder Mystery, Not Really Character Death, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, STONY Bingo 2018, Time Loop, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 18:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: Tony Stark is forced into the nightmare of his death, again and again, without end.The only thing that seems remarkable about this adventure is that he wakes up, every Saturday morning, in Steve Rogers' bed, whom he just can't seem to escape, no matter how much he tries.





	trample me with ungrateful feet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "time loops" square on my Stony Bingo card.
> 
> The title for this fic comes from Sarah J. Maas' A Court of Thorn and Roses.
> 
> Warnings: Tony is involved with a married man that is NOT Steve; Tony disapproves greatly of the idea of people having sex when they're drunk; some mature language regarding sex, a lot of horror-movie-esque violence; non-permanent character death.

Tony moans into the pillow, as he fists the sheets.

His head is pounding like a mosh pit; his mouth tastes like death and rot and ruin, and there’s a soreness that stretches through his body, like he’s been painted and pickled like a corpse.

When he finally manages to open his eyes, he squints into the sunlight, making a hurt little noise when the yellow stings his eyes.

“Shit, you okay?”

There’s a voice that makes him want to claw his eyes out.

“Hangover, huh?”

There’s a pad of footsteps that makes him burrow back into the sheets that smell like watercolour paint and, surprisingly, flowers.

He licks his dry, bitten-raw mouth and when his eyes flutter open, they meet the concerned blue ones of a small-made man, who looks like he’s made of bird bones that could break if Tony touched him a little too hard, but with a physique that a model would kill for, fine pale eyelashes that even mascara couldn’t make and tattoos crawling across exposed skin.

“Who the hell are you?” he slurs.

The man’s face flickers with amusement.

“You really got wasted last night,” he comments, placing a glass of cool water and two pills on the bedside table.

“Oh, thank God,” Tony groans, grabbing and downing both in one quick swoop.

When he pulls the covers off, he’s annoyed but unsurprised at the fact that he’s not wearing any clothes. He wouldn’t be in some stranger’s bed if he hadn’t gotten naked with said stranger.

He climbs to his feet and stumbles just a little before catching his balance.

“My, uh, clothes? Where are they?” he mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh!” the man exclaims. “Yeah, I folded them actually.”

The door to the dorm room slams opens, and both Tony and the stranger look towards it, as a man storms in, his eyes focused on the screen of the phone in his hands.

He’s much taller than Tony’s one-night stand, impeccably muscled, with a very pretty face, blue-grey eyes and a man-bun, a white singlet baring the red, raised scars marring his shoulder.

“Hey, Stevie, did you-”

The man stops short when he takes in the scene.

“Well, hell,” he comments, eyeing Tony standing there, naked, like a piece of meat. “Looks like I’m interrupting something… _interesting_.”

“Bucky,” Tony’s one-night stand groans, covering his face with his hands.

Bucky smirks and waggles his eyebrows at his friend. “My mistake. I’ll just… I’ll just leave you two alone, shall I?”

Bucky cleanly backs out of the room, flashing his friend a thumbs-up and a raunchy grin as he does so, closing the door behind him.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Tony’s one-night stand says, quickly. “He doesn’t normally barge in. Well, he does, ‘cause he lives here, but he wouldn’t have if he knew I had… company.”

“I don’t-I don’t really care,” Tony mutters. “My clothes, though?”

“Oh, right!”

A neat pile of clothes is shoved into his arms, unceremoniously, and he flashes the stranger a thumbs-up before quickly sliding into his jeans and throwing his shirt on.

“My name is Steve, by the way,” the stranger says, hesitantly. “Steve Rogers. You probably didn’t catch it last night.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs, finishing the glass of water that the stranger (now, _Steve_ ) had left for him. “I don’t really care. No offence.”

When he chances a look at his one-night stand, he’s surprised to see the disappointed look in Steve’s eyes. It leaves an even worse taste in his mouth that the leftovers of alcohol and vomit and he doesn’t understand why, but it’s as good as any reason to get the hell out of dodge.

“It’s nothing personal,” he says, lamely. “I just… one-night stand, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve exhales. “One-night stand.”

Tony chews on his lip. “Thanks for the pills, and the water, I guess,” he says, lamely.

He pushes past his one-night stand, who smells like lilacs (which is the strangest thing for him to think of right now; _fuck, Tony, get a grip_ ), and out the door, ignoring how Bucky is whistling to himself, leaning against the back wall, presumably to go inside his friend’s room and get all the naughty details from last night.

 _Frat boys_ , Tony thinks, disgusted.

He trudges through the dorm room until he emerges into the sunlight, wishing that he had brought sunglasses with him. It’s a short walk across campus from where his one-night stand lives and his own dorm, and he passes by a group of stoners getting high on the grass; there’s even a beatnik with long blonde hair leaning against a tree, with a guitar propped up on his lap, while he strums it for a gaggle of coeds in a circle, staring at him with heart eyes.

A skateboarder promptly crashes and topples into the bike racks.

He’s just walking under an arch when Tiberius Stone waylays him, forcing Tony to back up against the wall which doesn’t leave him much room to escape.

_God, could he be any skeevier?_

Tony sighs, heavily. “Ty,” he says, courteously.

“Hey, Tony,” Ty says, casually. “Just wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner tonight?”

Tony bites back a groan. “For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. He plants his hands on Ty’s chest and pushes him away violently. “Okay, Ty, reality check, we get burgers and fuck in the diner bathroom from time to time. It’s nice; you’ve got one hell of a talent at giving orgasms. A+++ for effort. But it was strictly friends with benefits and no feelings were attached. So, _this_ , you stalking me, needs to fucking stop, or I _will_ call the police on your ass. Understood?”

Tony tries to dodge underneath Ty’s arm to escape, but his hand locks like around Tony’s wrist.

“Woah, you’re not getting away that easily. This isn’t over-”

Ty shouts in pain when Tony’s heel slams down on his feet, and crumples when on the backswing, Tony knees him right in the balls.

“Fuck you,” Tony spits and rushes off.

Tony doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief until he rushes into his dorm and closes the doors behind him.

_I hate my life._

“Tony.”

_I hate my life a little more._

“Maria,” he returns, just as stoically.

“I saw the twink you were making out with last night,” Maria says, casually.

“And?” Tony says, disinterested, moving over to the hall table and flicking through his mail.

“Doesn’t seem like your type, is all.”

“Well, you’d be surprised at what I’m into, Hill.”

“I’m sure,” she snorts. “I’m just curious to see what Stone will say if he hears about your new boy toy.”

“Stone can think as he likes. It’s not my fault there are still idiots out there that equate good orgasms with true love.”

“It’s your funeral,” Maria sighs. “Just don’t let Sunset see you two together.”

Tony frowns, looking up. “Why would I care about what Sunset thinks?”

“‘Cause you attract all the psychos, and she’s had a thing for you for the last six months.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. “Okay, I’m done. I’m going to bed.”

He climbs the staircase without a second glance towards Maria, until he reaches the landing and takes a sharp right, making his way to his dorm room. Thankfully, the door is unlocked and when he turns the knob and slips inside, Morgan is sitting on his bed, tying his shoelaces.

“Hey, you, fun night?”

Tony grunts and collapses onto his bed, toeing off his own shoes, as he crawls under the covers. When the blood turns too hot in his face, he throws away the covers, only to come into contact with a cupcake brandished by Morgan, who’s sporting a cheesy grin.

“Happy Birthday,” he says, cheerfully.

Tony’s eyes narrow. “Fuck you,” he says, flatly, and turns his back on Morgan. “Just because you’re my cousin doesn’t mean you get to use this shit against me.”

“Tony-” Morgan begins.

“No,” he says, sharply. “Not interested.”

Morgan rolls his eyes and shoves the cupcake into Tony’s hands, despite his protesting squawk as to the contrary. He rushes towards the door.

“Have to get to work, but have fun today, okay. Don’t be such a lump,” Morgan says, quickly, closing the door behind him.

Tony eyes the cupcake. “Happy Birthday to me,” he muses. “I think fucking not.”

With impressive accuracy, he lobs the cupcake at the trash can and cheers when it lands square in the rubbish.

* * *

When Tony steps into the elevator in ground floor of the hospital, he hears a familiar voice calling out his name and frantically presses at the close button, hoping that the universe will be on his side for once, at least today.

But the universe clearly hates him, because Steve Rogers manages to slip inside with his slim body just before the elevator doors crush him into a soup of flesh, blood and bone.

“Hey, Tony,” he pants, bending forwards with his hands splayed on his thighs.

Tony stares at him. “Are you stalking me now?” he asks, flatly. “‘Cause I know I’m great in bed, but this is like not okay-”

“I’m _not_ stalking you!” Steve exclaims, offended, puffing up his chest, bravely, as he faces Tony head-on. “I’m a florist, okay. I bring bouquets for some of the long-term patients here.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “You’re a florist?” he snorts.

“Yeah,” Steve says, belligerently. He narrows his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Wow, you are just two-hundred pounds attitude in what, ninety pounds of meat, huh?” Tony muses. “So, florist, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, warily. His eyes widen. “Oh, I’m actually glad I ran into you. You forgot something this morning.”

“If it’s my wallet, you may have noticed I’m rich and it doesn’t really matter to me,” Tony points out.

“Yeah, I got that,” Steve snorts.

_So not really the nice guy, huh?_

“And it’s not your wallet.” Steve fishes into the back pocket of his jeans which make his thighs look fucking hot (Tony may or may not be imagining what it would be like to suck his cock right now). “Here,” Steve hands him a silver necklace that makes Tony pale. “I found it under my pillow.”

Tony snatches it from Steve’s fingers, shoving it into his pocket. “Thanks,” he says, curtly.

“Is it like a family heirloom or something?” Steve asks, curiously. “You seem pretty attached to it.”

“It’s none of your damn business,” Tony says, coldly.

Thankfully, in that moment, the elevator door slides open at the floor Tony was aiming for.

“I’d say I hope I see you around, Rogers, but I’d be lying.”

* * *

Barely a minute after Tony knocks on the door, it swings open, only to reveal Loki Laufeyson standing in the doorway, his long dark hair in a braid at the base of his skull.

“Dr Laufeyson,” Tony says, demurely.

Loki smiles down at him, with just a hint of heat. “Mr Stark,” he rumbles.

“I was wondering if I could discuss my paper with you,” Tony says, lowly, trailing his fingertips over Loki’s raised, defined collarbone.

“Of course. You should come into my office.”

Tony smiles and lets Loki drag him over the threshold.

Ten minutes later, Loki is caging him against the giant desk in his office, with his jeans unbuttoned and Loki’s hand down his boxers.

“Loki?”

_Shit._

Tony and Loki break away from their make-out session to see the lock jangling.

“Loki, are you in there?”

“Fuck, is that your wife?” Tony hisses.

Loki’s face is equally panicked. “I didn’t… I didn’t realise she’d be visiting today.”

Tony pushes him away, unceremoniously, buttoning his jeans. “Clearly,” he growls. “I’d like to think you wouldn’t expect to fuck me in your office if you knew your wife planned to drop in.”

“Tony,” Loki begins, lowly.

“Shut up, Loki.”

Loki scowls and makes his way over to the door, after making sure that both he and Tony look presentable. He opens the door and Sif Laufeyson, with her dark, wavy hair and lab coat, storms in.

“What was wrong with your door?” she asks, concerned.

Loki shrugs, a good liar as they come. “The door sticks sometime.”

Sif nods, as if appeased by his excuse. It’s then that she notices Tony awkwardly standing off to the side of the room, with one hand behind his back and the other in his hair.

“Oh,” her eyes widen with surprise. “I didn’t realise you were… _busy_?”

“I just, uh, came to ask a question about my paper. I’ll make myself scarce,” he says, quickly, rushing out the door past them and to the elevator, only breathing a sigh of relief when he’s inside the small chamber and the doors close.

“Hey.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not you again,” he groans.

“Hey, it ain’t so great running into _you_ , either,” Steve retorts.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, right,” he snorts.

“Wow, you really do think you’re God’s gift to everyone, don’t you?” Steve shakes his head, disgusted.

“Fuck off, Rogers, no one cares what you think,” Tony says, blithely.

His phone buzzes in his jeans’ back pocket and his deft fingers grapple for it, staring at the display screen for a moment.

HOWARD _._

 _Fuck no_ , he thinks and promptly hits the reject button.

The elevator dings when it hits the ground floor and Tony straightens, waiting on the balls of his feet until the doors slide open enough to slip through.

“I’d say it was great seeing you, but you’re a crazy stalker and I seriously hope I never see you again,” he says, cheerfully.

“You’re such a dick, Stark,” comes the shout from Steve after he squeezes out.

Tony smiles.

* * *

Tony just narrowly manages to avoid the swarm of frat boy douchebags on his way down the stairs in front of the campus bar.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, you moron!” he shouts, belligerently.

“Suck my dick, Stark,” comes the eloquent response from one of the jocks.

“I wouldn’t waste my time on something that small, fuckwit,” Tony retorts.

Before the jocks decide to retaliate and beat the shit out of him, Tony decides it’s better to get the hell out of dodge, and rounds the corner, hiding behind a wall until the jocks pass him by.

 _Whew, dodged a bullet_.

Tony looks at the end of the tunnel in which he finds himself, only to find a lone person standing at the other end, sole deep in the puddles on the asphalt, inconsequential but for the disturbing way they just watch without moving an inch and the terrifying baby doll mask they wear to hide their identity.

Tony squints into the darkness. “Is it Halloween already? Or are you just practicing?”

Like a veritable serial killer, the stranger says nothing.

Instead, the stranger pulls out a gleaming silver butcher knife out of their back pocket.

“You have to got to be kidding me,” he moans.

Much to his disbelief, when Tony starts backing away, the stranger stalks forward.

_Fuck. Must get away._

Tony tries to run, but the universe hates him, and he ends up slipping in one of the puddles, hitting the ground with a rough, painful sound. He gasps for breath, clutching his stomach, his tailbone aching, and when he looks up, squinting, the stranger is looming over him.

He tries to scramble away, but the stranger grabs a handful of his hair and pulls him back.

The last thing he knows is the glint of the knife blade before his throat splits open, and he’s choking on the thick, wet, warm blood in his mouth and lungs.

* * *

With a movie-esque gasp, he’s jack-knifing up in bed and groaning, clutching his head, fingers clutching at his hair.

“Woah, woah!”

Small hands are gripping him by the shoulder and pushing him back down onto the bed, gently, which he promptly smacks off, managing to shoot the offending a person a vicious glower through squinty eyes.

_Huh, it’s you._

Steve Rogers peers down at him with concerned eyes, his thin, painter hands grasping him by the shoulders, stubbornly.

“I think you had a nightmare,” he says, calmly.

“Yeah,” Tony huffs. “I got that.”

“Well, I think you’re hungover, so, you know, careful,” Steve advises.

Tony winces, his head pounding like a jackhammer. “What the fuck, Rogers?”

“You know my name?” Steve asks, sceptically.

“Yeah, I know your name. You’ve been stalking me the whole day,” Tony slurs, his mouth tasting like something rotting. He blinks until he can keep his eyes open for longer than a few seconds without feeling as though they’re about to bleed out of their sockets.

_Well, doesn’t this look familiar._

“Why the fuck am I in your room again?” Tony demands, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Wait, _again_?” Steve clarifies, confused.

“Yeah, don’t you remember?” Tony says, slowly.

Steve’s brow furrows in a way that draws attention to his defined cheekbones (Tony is still jealous as fuck of his bone structure). “Uh, Tony, you’ve never been here before,” he repeats, just as slowly, like he thinks Tony’s on some fucked-up acid trip.

Well, that could actually explain the crazy near-death experience he remembers.

He stares at Steve for a moment, wondering if this is the sort of guy who would fuck with him, make him believe that everything that he remembers from the last twenty-four hours was just a dream and then trap him in some sort of Misery situation.

He falters. “You’re a florist,” he says, lamely.

Steve startles. “Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, I am.”

 _Like hell a florist would go to all this trouble_ , Tony reasons.

He just hopes he isn’t being a total moron. Genius _wunderkind_ or not, even he’s prone to occasional bouts of idiocy.

“Huh, maybe it was just a dream,” he says, more to himself than anything.

Steve frowns. “ _What_ was a dream?”

Tony waves him off. “Don’t worry about it,” he garbles.

He throws open the covers, only to find that he’s naked underneath, much like the dream he had. When he looks up, Steve is determinedly looking everywhere but at Tony, and there’s even a hint of peach-pink shadowing his cheeks.

It makes Tony snort as he stumbles out of Steve’s single bed, unashamed by his nudity.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he teases.

Steve swallows hard. “I’m not… I’m not exactly used to this,” he explains, his voice a little high-pitched.

“You know,” Tony begins, casually. “I feel like I just got hit by a truck. You should be proud, Rogers. Not many people are capable of that.”

The door swings open, abruptly, and Bucky walks in, his eyes rooted to his phone screen (for the life of him, he doesn’t understand why he remembers the frat boy’s name).

“Hey, Stevie, did you-”

Just like his dream, Bucky comes to a standstill when he sees what he interrupted. In his defence, Tony supposes, the scene this time around is a little more scandalising than the one in his dreams, with Steve seated on his bed, with the sheets thrown back, and Tony naked and on his feet.

“Well, hell,” he comments, his eyes dragging over Tony. “Looks like I’m interrupting something… _interesting_.”

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” Tony says, dryly.

Bucky waggles his eyebrows. “Well, if you’re offering, doll.” He winks.

Tony flips him off, like he wanted to in his dream, which makes Bucky laugh.

“Bucky,” Steve groans, covering his face with his hands.

Bucky smirks and waggles his eyebrows at his friend. “My mistake. I’ll just… I’ll just leave you two alone, shall I?”

Bucky cleanly backs out of the room, flashing his friend a thumbs-up and a raunchy grin as he does so, closing the door behind him.

“Jesus Christ, déjà vu much,” Tony mutters under his breath.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Steve says, quickly. “He doesn’t normally barge in. Well, he does, but he wouldn’t have if he knew I had… company.”

“It’s fine. I don’t really care. Do you have my clothes?” Tony asks, wearily, the hangover not fully gone.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Steve hands him his clothes, which he hastily puts on, and slips out of the door, ignoring Steve’s last words and Bucky waiting outside. Nothing from his dream is different, strangely, not even the stoners on the grass or the guitar groupies. Ty is even waiting for him under the arch. He promptly ignores the bastard, not even willing to subject himself to a brief conversation like he had in his dream, and dodges under the arm that tries to trap him in a cage built of Ty’s lean body.

Maybe it’s because it’s so similar to his dream and he’s already done this dog-and-pony show, but he has no patience for Maria Hill or her stupid comments about Steve, or Morgan’s pretend concern. He still throws the silly frosted cupcake in the bin, because he thinks if he scarfs down all that artificial sugar, he’ll be throwing up and it won’t be worth it like when he drowns himself in shots of expensive vodka.

He goes to the hospital, because he isn’t one to turn down an orgasm and Loki has these nice hands that make him sing. Steve joins him in the elevator, of course, just like his dream, huffing and puffing like he’s about to blow the hospital down.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve wheezes.

“Steve,” he says, flatly. “So, you’re a florist?” he asks, grudgingly, because he has to admit he’s somewhat curious why a charcoal-smudged young, attractive slim-made man makes elaborate bouquets in his free time.

Steve’s face betrays his surprise and it gets Tony’s hackles rising.

“You don’t need to answer me if you don’t want to-” he says, defensively.

“No, _no_ ,” Steve exclaims. “Uh, I just didn’t know that you knew I was a florist?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you about it in the morning, but your buddy kind’a ruined the mood.” Tony pauses for effect. “So, florist, huh? How does that happen?”

“Uh, nothing exciting or anything. I was broke in my freshman year, and I’m not exactly built for serious labour work. I have a shitload of health issues and I’m tiny, so I started working in this flower shop. The owner retired a couple of months ago; she was this really nice old lady, and she gave the shop to me to run. So, yeah, florist.”

“You have a shitload of health issues?” Tony asks, sceptically.

Steve laughs, roughly. “Yeah, uh, a lot. I’ve got asthma, strep throat, myocarditis, sinusitis, high blood pressure, palpitations, and anxiety issues. I’m pretty fucked up.”

Tony rubs the back of his neck because he’s pretty shit at the whole comforting thing. “You still managed to give me one hell of a pounding last night, so I wouldn’t sell yourself that short,” he offers, weakly.

Steve flushes right down to his neck. Frankly, if Tony wasn’t already chafed with the prospect of bending over for the dashing Dr Laufeyson, he’d be tempted to kneel down in the elevator and suck this beautiful man off, if only so he’d get a chance at remembering what the hell happened between them last night.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve says, dryly. “You’re really good at cheering people up.”

Tony sniffs. “You bet your ass I am.”

“Oh, by the way, you forgot something in my room this morning actually.”

Tony pauses, remembering this exact same scene from his dream, and his stomach sinks with dread.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Uh, I’m rich, dude. There’s nothing I left in your room that I couldn’t just buy again?”

“Well, just in case, I’d feel better about giving it back to you,” Steve explains, not unkindly, and pulls something out of the back pocket of his jeans which cling to him like glue and are rehashing all of those blowjob fantasies Tony was having moments ago. “Here,” the silver necklace drops into Tony’s palm with no sound at all. “I found it under my pillow.”

Tony swallows hard, threading his fingers in the chain momentarily before putting it away. “Thanks.”

“You don’t seem like the type of person to be religious,” Steve hedges.

“I’m not,” Tony says, immediately.

Steve looks at him, expectantly.

Thankfully, the elevator pings and the doors slide open.

“This is my floor,” Tony says, quickly.

He dashes out, ignoring the way that Steve calls out after him, and turns around the corner. Finally, he stops just outside the door to Loki’s office and takes a deep breath that curdles somewhere in his lungs.

“Okay, Tony, buck up,” he whispers to himself.

He paints a synthetic smile on his face before he knocks on the door.

Loki greets him with a smile and pulls him into his office, and Tony kisses him, fiercely, letting Loki’s hands and heat sweep him away.

Just like his dream, however, Loki’s wife interrupts them before they can really get going. He’d be pissed if he wasn’t already feeling like an absolute bastard for fucking her husband behind her back. But, then again, it isn’t his job to referee their marriage, and _Loki_ is the douchebag screwing around on his wife.

Nonetheless, he feels like a spineless piece of shit when he scurries away from the office and hurtles back into the elevator.

And, again, just like his dream, Steve is waiting in the elevator.

“So, you get all your deliveries done?” Tony asks, awkwardly, pressing himself against the wall.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, just as awkwardly. “You finish up all your… errands?”

The way that Steve stars at him, with his fluffy hair in a disarray, his shirt half tucked into his jeans and his mouth raw, it makes Tony think that Steve knows exactly what he’s been doing, maybe even who he’s been doing it with.

He bites back any and all shame.

What does he care if some ex-boy-toy judges him?

Tony clears his throat and stares back, defiantly. “Yeah, I did. You got a problem with that?”

Steve blinks and blushes. “No, uh, no, I don’t.”

Tony doesn’t believe him for a second.

His phone buzzes, startling him.

Tony grapples for the little rectangular object and grimaces at the name he sees on the display screen.

_HOWARD._

He shoves it back in his pocket.

“Uh, see you around, Steve,” he says, when the elevator doors finally open after what seems like an eternity. “Thanks for giving me back the… yeah, thanks.”

He doesn’t disappear quickly enough that he misses Steve’s quiet _bye, Tony_.

* * *

Just to save himself the grief and because all of this déjà vu shit is freaking him out, he decides to skip the party tonight, electing to remain in his dorm room. Thank God that Morgan has a shift at the hospital and he won’t be bothering him for the rest of the night, because Tony desperately needs some TLC after the night and day he’s had.

Unfortunately, for him, the dorm has decided that tonight is the perfect night for a party. He’s always been a little weak, so it’s of no surprise to anyone or himself that he sneaks down halfway through the night to grab himself a red solo cup of cheap beer, even if he can afford way better. He dodges a lot of wayward hands and sloppy grins, hurtling up the steps to his room to spend the rest of his night a little tipsy and working on DUM-E’s code.

Tony makes a noise of disgust when he sees a boy and girl fervently making out on top of his mattress.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” he shouts, storming in.

He grabs the boy on top by the scruff his douchebag polo shirt and pulls him off the girl, sending him toppling to the floor. The girl sits up, her eyes slightly glazed, her shirt rolled up just under her breasts, exposing her midriff. He deliberately looks away from where her spread legs show him an unfortunately substantial peek at her underwear.

“Get the fuck out,” he tells the guy groaning on the floor. “This isn’t a fucking brothel and no, you cannot use my damn bed to fuck. And she’s fucking drunk, you pig.” He shakes his head in disgust. “You, get lost. Go find a willing girl for you to get your rocks off with.”

“Hey, fucker, you got a problem.” The guy drunkenly climbs to his feet. “This chick’s mine.”

“No,” Tony says, grimly. “She’s really fucking not.”

He reels back and decks the drunk bastard in the face, sending him sprawling across the floor with blood gushing out of his broken nose.

 _That’s what I’m talking about_ , he thinks, gleefully.

“You want me to keep kicking your ass?” he taunts.

The guy clutches at his nose and mumbles something along the lines of _die, you fucking prick_ , before stumbling out of the room. When Tony turns back, the girl is already unconscious on his bed, splayed out across the sheets.

 _Joy_ , he huffs and strides over, covering the girl with the sheets and turning her over onto her side so that if and when she wakes up, she can throw up the contents of her stomach without choking on her own vomit.

Just in case, he places a half-empty rubbish bin by the side of the bed.

Well, there goes his night.

He drains the beer cup he put down on one of the cupboards and drops it in the rubbish, before storming out towards the balcony, wishing he had a cigarette or a joint or something, because his skin won’t stop itching or crawling.

He leans forward against the balcony railing, letting the night wind blow his hair back.

Footsteps patter behind him.

Tony sighs. “Rhodey, I really don’t want to talk about my shitty day.”

But Rhodey doesn’t answer.

Tony turns around.

A baby face mask looms in his face.

“Shit,” he gasps, grappling for the railing.

He’s dead the second his skull hits the pavement.

* * *

Tony wakes up in Steve Rogers’ bed for the third time.

He throws the pillows over his face and screams.

That day, Baby Face pushes him down a flight of concrete steps.

* * *

The fourth time, he’s beaten to death with a baseball bat.

* * *

The fifth time, he’s strangled with piano wire.

* * *

The sixth time, he drowns.

* * *

The seventh time, he decides to say fuck it.

“Uh, Tony, you sure you don’t want clothes?”

Tony turns around to see Steve standing in front of the doors to his dorm room, his hand holding out the clothes he left in Steve’s room.

“Why bother?” he calls out. “I’m just going to die anyway.” He pauses. “And not in an existential, mortality crisis kind of way. In a I’m pretty sure that there’s a serial killer standing behind that way with a butcher knife kind of way.”

“But you’re naked!”

“Oh, come on, Rogers,” he laughs, waggles his eyebrows. “Don’t pretend like you don’t enjoy the view.”

The way that Steve’s ears flush shouldn’t make something melt inside him, but it does, and he pretty much prances away.

That night, Baby Face gets him with a fireman axe.

* * *

The eighth time, he decides he needs some help.

“Someone’s trying to kill me,” he blurts out.

Steve blinks. “Okay?” he says, uncertainly.

Tony sighs. “Look, this isn’t the first time I’ve woken up in your bed.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, right. I think I’d remember that.”

“No,” Tony moans. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, I’m in the middle of a Groundhog Day kind of deal. Did you watch that movie?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I did.”

“Okay, same principle, apply it to me.”

Steve pauses. “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re stuck in some sort of time loop: every time some guy or girl in a baby face mask kills you, you die and then you wake up repeating the same day, again and again.”

“Yes. _Yes_. Okay, you get it.” Tony breathes a sigh of relief. “I need your help.”

Steve drags a thin, bony hand across his face. “How could I possibly help?”

“I figure this loopy shit stops if I figure out who’s my stalker and kill him or her before they kill me.” Tony shrugs.

“Well, that sounds logical,” Steve says, sarcastically.

“Hey, you got any better ideas?” Tony lifts his chin.

“Well, no,” Steve admits, grudgingly. “But-”

“But nothing,” Tony interjects, sharply. “Are you gonna help or not?”

Steve groans. “Okay, fine. What do you want from me?”

“How do I find out who my stalker is?”

“Well, you keep time-travelling back to the start of today, right? Why don’t you just follow all your suspects around, see if it’s them? You’ve got the time.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “So, you’re plan is for me to just keep dying and dying, again and again, until I figure out which shithead is trying to off me?” he asks, sceptically.

Steve pauses. “Well, yeah. Do you have any better ideas?”

“No,” Tony grits out, reluctantly.

“Great. Now, do you have any suspects?”

Tony sighs and falls back against the bed. “In case you don’t know who I am, my name is Tony Stark and I’m kind of a dick to everyone. It could be any hundred people trying to kill me.”

Steve screws up his face. “Seriously?”

“I have a very killable attitude.” Tony shrugs, unapologetically.

“Great,” Steve says, dryly. “Okay, this has to be someone close to you, otherwise there’s no way that they’d be able to catch you every single time.”

“Probably,” Tony sighs. “Look, I’m starving. Dying seven goddamn times really takes it out of a person. You want to go get some breakfast or something?”

Steve blinks. “You want to have breakfast with _me_?”

Tony shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”

“You don’t seem like the guy to have breakfast the morning after.” Steve narrows his eyes.

“I don’t,” Tony agrees. “But you’re helping me with this fucked up episode in the recycled tragedy that is my life, which means you’re entitled to gratitude pancakes at the diner just outside campus.”

“Gratitude pancakes?”

* * *

Gratitude pancakes are fucking amazing, according to Tony and everyone who he’s ever treated to gratitude pancakes, which is a select few people in his life: Rhodey, Pepper, Bruce and now, Steve.

It was his mother’s tradition, from long ago, when he was practically a baby, toddling around her because she was his entire world. Whenever someone close to her did something nice for her, she would make them gratitude pancakes. Since Tony was absolute shit at cooking, he just treated them to gratitude pancakes.

So, now, Tony and Steve sit at a diner booth, nursing gratitude pancakes and a chocolate milkshake.

“So, who d’you think it could be?” Steve asks, curiously, twirling his straw in the thick, brown drink.

Tony shrugs. “There aren’t a lot of people close to me,” he says, blithely.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Try.”

“Well, if we’re looking at people that I spend a significant amount of time with that would be aware of my movements or routines, I guess that’s limited to Rhodey, Pepper, Bruce, Ty and Morgan, my cousin.”

He deliberately leaves out the name of the married teacher that he’s currently fucking, because somehow, he thinks straight-laced Steve Rogers, even with his raging tattoos, will disapprove very much of his aiding and abetting adultery.

“Could it be your friend, Rhodes?” Steve asks, curiously.

“No. No way,” Tony says, immediately. “If my honeybear wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t dress up in some cheap, creepy-as-fuck plastic mask and stalk me through campus. He’s had plenty of chances to do it way more subtly and he’s a smart cookie. All he’d have to do is forget to turn me on my side when I’m shitfaced and I’d choke to death on my own vomit.”

“You’ve, uh…” Steve hesitates. “You’ve given this a lot of thought?”

Tony shrugs. “I have an overactive, vivid and extensive imagination.”

“Okay,” Steve says, slowly. “Moving on. How about Pepper?”

“Again, Pepper’s smarter than this horror movie reject,” Tony scoffs. “And she has deadly aim with her heels. If I really pissed her off to the extent that she’d try and kill me, she’d just lob one of those six-inch nightmares and get me in the eye. That’d do the trick.”

“Bruce?”

“Brucie Bear is a doll, super mild-mannered with minor rage problems, but he wouldn’t try and kill me. He’s way too busy changing the world in his lab. Murdering would take too much time away from his microscopes.”

“Fine, Ty,” Steve snaps.

“The douchebag ex-friend with benefits that I used to have sex with in that bathroom that keeps stalking me. There’s a winner,” Tony says, sarcastically.

“So, you thought he was a douchebag, but you still had sex with him in the bathroom?” Steve asks, sceptically.

Tony finds his hackles rising at Steve’s tone.

“Pretty judgy words coming from a guy who was clearly sober last night and still had sex with someone who was completely trashed,” he retorts.

“We didn’t have sex,” Steve says, slowly.

“Wait, what?” Tony chokes on his milkshake.

“Tony,” Steve begins, carefully but confident. “You were really drunk last night. Of course, we didn’t have sex. That’s just… well, that’s illegal, for one. And two, I wouldn’t take advantage of someone who was drunk. That’s just disgusting.”

“Huh,” Tony says, bemused. “That’s a first.” He mutters under his breath.

_And how did I not figure that out the last seven Saturdays?_

“Clearly you have shit taste in people you have sex with,” Steve says, casually, keeping his eyes focused on the plate of pancakes in front of him.

“Hey,” Tony exclaims, offended. He pauses. “Okay, fine. Yeah, I guess I do have shit taste in people I fuck.” He bites down on his lower lip. “Except for you.”

Steve looks up, surprised. “Really?” he says, disbelievingly. He clears his throat. “Well, to be fair, we didn’t have sex.”

“We could change that,” Tony says, casually.

Steve chokes on his milkshake. “What?” he exclaims.

“We could change that,” he replies, slowly. “When we’re done here, we can go back to your room. Do a do-over of last night.”

Steve blinks and then furiously blushes. “I don’t think that’s a-”

“Why not?” Tony raises an eyebrow. “You clearly want to have sex with me. I’d like to have sex with you. I’d say it was a win-win scenario.”

Steve leans in. “Mostly because there’s a killer on the loose coming up with very creative ways of murdering you,” he points out, a little hysterically.

“Well, if I’m with you, I’m a little safer, wouldn’t you say?” Tony retorts. He cocks his head, giving the boy a discerning look. He likes what he sees, in more than one way. “You seem like the _fight me_ type.”

Steve’s ears turn red. “Well…”

“Oh, my God,” Tony crows, a little delighted. “You’re not even going to deny it!” he cackles. He softens. “Come on, Steve. You know you want to.”

Steve rubs a hand over his face, which is flared up hot. “How about this, when you figure out what’s going on here, and you stop whoever’s trying to kill you, we can, uh, hit a home run.”

Tony grins. “Hit a home run, huh?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Okay, then.” Tony raises his quickly-warming milkshake. “Shall we toast to it?”

Steve nods and clinks his own milkshake against Tony’s.

They fall back into silence, but it’s a comfortable one.

“Why _did_ you ask me for help?”

Tony frowns and taps his fork against the porcelain plate. “Honestly, right now, you seem like the most stable presence in my life. I have friends that mean a lot to me, but… they don’t get what’s going on here. I just seem to run into you _a lot_ today.”

Steve looks down at his plate as well. “I’m glad I can be of some help,” he offers.

Tony nods, awkwardly.

“Oh, before I forget, I have something of yours.”

Tony’s stomach fills with dread, when the silver necklace drops into his palm.

“I kept it with me because I didn’t want to lose it or anything. I hope you don’t think I was stealing it or anything,” Steve says, quickly.

“No, I, uh,” Tony clears his throat. “I don’t think that at all,” he says, quietly.

“You don’t seem like the religious type.”

“I’m not. But…” Tony trails off. “My mother was. She died last year, in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs.

Tony shrugs. “Yeah, it was a pretty shit time for me. My dad… he was driving the car; he was drunk, and he wrapped it around a tree. He got out with just a few scrapes, but my mum died on impact,” he explains, half-heartedly. “And now he keeps calling me and I think I’d rather just let Baby Face kill me a hundred times than talk to him.”

“Fair enough.” Steve looks at Tony so pathetically earnest that it makes Tony’s chest hurt. “I really am sorry, Tony.”

Tony swallows hard. “Thank you.”

“My mum died from cancer a couple of years back. It’s not the exact same scenario, I know, but I get a little of what you’re feeling.” Steve stretches his hand and threads his fingers through Tony’s.

It makes him feel a little warmer, a little more content.

For today, that’s enough.

Tony clears his throat. “So, it could be Ty?”

Steve blinks and shrugs. “Well, if he’s stalking you…”

“He was pretty pissed by the way that I blew him off this morning, so, maybe X really does mark the spot,” Tony muses.

“You gonna follow him?”

“That works?”

“Uh, don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?” Steve points out.

Tony makes a face. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Well, no,” Steve admits, grudgingly.

“Then, I guess we have a plan of action.” Tony jumps to his feet, a little giddy with determination. “Thanks for the brainstorming help.”

On his way out the door, he hears Steve shout after him.

“I hope you know I strongly disapprove!”

“Save it for the home run, Rogers!”

* * *

Unfortunately, it isn’t Ty.

The way he knows this is by following Ty the whole day, much to his eternal disgust.

He’s a pig and frankly, Tony’s getting hives just by staring at him.

But the reason why he knows that Baby Face isn’t Ty is because he’s currently beating the shit out of his ex-friend with benefits when his skull is bashed in with what he thinks is a baseball bat.

But he can’t know for sure, because he dies.

He just hopes Ty goes down after him.

Then again, it doesn’t matter much because it’s not like all of this won’t be rewritten anyway, and he’ll wake up in Steve Roger’s bed all over again, which would be a good thing if they’d even had sex in the first place and he could remember it.

Wonderful.

* * *

The ninth time he wakes up, he looks at Steve sitting in a chair and slurs, “it wasn’t Ty.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

Tony groans, remembering Steve doesn’t know what’s going on. He, impatiently, explains the entire story, despite Steve’s initial bemusement and scepticism, and Steve, much like the previous loop, agrees to help him. He blushes like crazy when Tony mentions their home run agreement, but interestingly, he doesn’t refuse to hold up his end of the bargain.

“I want pancakes for breakfast,” Tony declares. “But I need a shower first. I’ll meet you at the diner on the edge of campus.”

Without waiting for confirmation, he dons his clothes and strides out of Steve’s room, only to run into Bucky, whom he now knows is Steve’s best friend from long back.

“Stop perving, Barnes,” he says, loftily. “I know I got the best goods, but show some self-control.”

“Fuck off, Stark,” Bucky grumbles. “You’re not that hot.”

Tony laughs. “Now I _know_ you’re lying.” He waggles his eyebrows.

He leaves Bucky standing in the hallway to the dorm, and knows that as soon as he disappears around the corner, he’ll be grilling Steve on everything that happened between the two of them. He goes another way, just to skip seeing Ty, and makes his way to and into his dorm room, where Morgan is ever-waiting for him.

When Morgan hands him the cupcake, this time, Tony decides not to throw it out. Why deny himself everything sweet if he’s just going to die again and again?

He sighs, placing the cupcake on his bedside table, and shucks his clothes off, stepping into the male communal showers and washing off all the alcohol and sweat and grime that had built up over the night and days. Within twenty minutes or so, he’s ready to leave and join Steve at the diner, but as he emerges out of the dorm, his vision goes black and he falls down the steps, landing with a crack on the pavement.

When he wakes up, he’s blinking into bright hospital lights and a nurse is checking his IV.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” the nurse says, cheerfully. “I’ll just get Dr Laufeyson.”

_Dr Laufeyson? Oh, you have got to be kidding me._

Loki enters his hospital room, his eyes focused on the medical chart he was holding in his hands.

“Well, Mr Stark, how are you feeling now?” he asks, pleasantly.

Tony narrows his eyes. _How do you think I fucking feel? You’ve been trying to kill me, you sociopathic douchebag._

He grits his teeth. “Like I fell down a flight of stairs.”

Loki makes a sympathetic sound that Tony doesn’t believe for a second. “Well, there’s something I actually wanted to talk to you about.”

“Is it the reason why I fainted?” Tony asks, warily.

“Yes, actually.” Loki frowns and takes a seat by Tony’s bedside. He waits until the nurse disappears out the door, before taking Tony’s hand in his own, the touch making Tony’s skin crawl now with suspicion. “We did some scans, and well, there are a few injuries I’d like for you to explain to me, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Like what?”

Loki shows him a few x-ray scans, one after the other. “Blunt force head trauma in many areas, throat lacerations and injuries, haemorrhages, multiple broken bones, edema and contusions in the lungs. These are all things that should’ve killed you, Tony.”

 _They did_ , Tony thinks, dully.

Loki’s entire face softens.

Knowing what he knows now, he can’t believe Loki was ever handsome.

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Tony?”

“No,” Tony says, immediately.

Loki sighs. “Tony, if anyone’s hurting you-”

“No one’s hurting me.” _You’re hurting me._

Loki stares at him for a moment, Tony desperately trying to give nothing away, and finally, he sighs, sliding to his feet.

“Fine, Tony. But if you ever feel like talking,” Loki runs his fingertips over Tony’s knuckles, imitating a lover’s touch. “You can always come and talk to me.”

Tony nods, stiffly. “Yeah, I’ll remember that.”

“Knock, knock.”

Tony and Loki both turn to where a nervous Steve is hovering in the doorway, his hands grasping at the stem of a giant bouquet of flowers that hid pretty much his entire torso.

“Is this a bad time?” he asks, hesitantly. “I can come back later.”

Tony finds a smile spreading across his face. “Did you make me a bouquet, Rogers?”

Steve flushes and nods, a little shyly. “Yeah, I went by your dorm, and your pal, Rhodey, said you were in the hospital ‘cause you collapsed. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Bring them here,” Tony orders.

Steve shuffles forward and places the flowers in Tony’s hands. It’s a brilliant array of yellows and oranges and pinks and reds, and the petals tickle his cheeks, making him smile.

“I love them,” he declares. “Thank you.” he flutters his eyelashes a little, just to be a little shit.

Steve’s ears turn red.

When Tony turns his head a little, he can see that Loki is observing them very carefully and when he realises Tony’s watching him, he gives Tony an almost angry, betrayed look.

Tony raises his eyebrow.

Loki scowls, but his expression clears when Steve realises something’s going on.

“I’ll just leave you two alone,” Loki says, tersely, and storms out of the room.

“Did I-did I do something wrong?” Steve asks, bemused.

Tony snorts. “God, no.” He eyes the door. “Mind checking if he’s still loitering the hall?”

Steve frowns, but he does as Tony asks. “No, he’s not.”

“Is the hallway clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good, close the door and lock it. I need to tell you something.”

Steve locks the door and takes the seat that Loki just vacated. “What’s going on?”

“So, I’m pretty sure Loki’s the killer.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Lok-you mean, _Dr Laufeyson_?” he almost shrieks.

Tony hushes him, furiously. “Don’t be so loud. He could have spies everywhere. And there are cameras.”

Steve rolls his eyes. He leans in. “What makes you think that it’s Dr Laufeyson?”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Promise not to judge?”

“Okay,” Steve says, warily.

“I’ve kind of been sleeping with him.”

“Sleeping with-Tony, he’s _married_!” Steve says, aghast.

“You promised!” Tony insists. “No judging.”

“But-”

“No. No judging.”

“Fine,” Steve huffs, slumping back in his chair. “No judging.”

“Thank you,” Tony mutters. “Look, it wasn’t like I was planning it or anything. I wanted to discuss something with him after class, and he was sticking his tongue down my throat like twenty minutes later. It happens.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Does it?”

“Judging,” Tony sings.

Steve takes a deep breath. “Fine. So, what makes you think he’s the killer?”

“Well, aside from the corniest horror movie storyline ever,” Tony pushes.

Steve rolls his eyes. “This isn’t a movie, Tony.”

“Yeah, but come on, you tell me if you don’t think it’s suspicious. It’s not Ty, which means it’s gotta be him.”

“Okay, so, let’s say it is. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m not going to take the chance that he slips something lethal into this fucking IV. You need to help spring me.”

“Tony, there’s a reason why you’re in hospital,” Steve says, patiently.

“Hospital-shmospital, this fucker wants to kill me,” Tony snaps.

“Tony.”

“Steve.”

Steve stares at him for a moment, but Tony’s a stubborn bastard, so Steve eventually relents. “Fine,” he huffs.

“Thank you,” Tony says, sweetly. “I’ll throw in an extra orgasm for you.”

Steve blushes. It’s becoming a constant thing for him. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not?” Tony teases.

“Like you’re not paying me in orgasms, or anything,” Steve stumbles over his words.

Tony softens. “I know. I just like seeing you blush,” he explains, shamelessly.

Steve’s blush darkens.

“Exactly, like that.”

“Tony!”

“Fine,” Tony chuckles. “Fine, I’ll stop.”

“So, how d’you want to do this?” Steve asks, curiously.

“Okay, so, the second that I take any of these things off, their alarms will start going off and they’ll rush in here to stop us. So, we need to switch the machines off at the power point, or they’ll figure it out. Can you do that?”

Steve grimaces but climbs to his feet. “Fine. But I just want it reflected that I think this is such a fucking terrible idea.”

“Duly noted,” Tony says, cheerfully.

Steve rounds the other side of the hospital bed, making his way to the far wall, where the wires from the various machines culminate in a single power point.

“Just out of curiosity, how many tattoos do you have?” Tony asks, casually.

Steve falters. “Not many. One of the Brooklyn Bridge. Some birds. A triquetra. Flowers. Paintbrushes.”

“That’s not exactly _not many_ ,” Tony points out.

Steve shrugs. “It’s all I want for right now. I might want some more later on.” He pauses. “Do you have any?”

“Nope,” he says, easily. “I want a few, but I’ve never managed to drag myself to a tattoo artist.”

“I know people,” Steve offers. “Uh, there’s this place, just off campus, it’s called Hawkeye and Widow, run by my friends, Clint and Natasha. They do really great work, that is, if you want to go…”

Tony gives him a smile. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

With a shrill beep, the machines go flat and dead, and Tony breathes a sigh of relief. He starts pulling at the wires and the sticky patches on his chest, carefully removing the IV with Steve’s help, so he doesn’t start splattering blood everywhere.

“Okay, come on,” Tony says, hurriedly, grabbing Steve by the wrist and pulling him along.

He checks the corridors one last time, before the two of them skulk across the wall, heading down to the nearest elevator.

“Tony!”

_Shit._

Loki’s at the other end of the corridor, eyes wide and glowering.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh,” Tony nudges Steve in the side. “I think it’s time to start running now.”

“What?” Steve hisses.

“Come on, _run_!”

The two of them start racing down the corridor, but luck is clearly not on their side, because Loki knows the layout of the hospital much better than them. Steve is punched in the back of the head, and goes down like a sack of potatoes. Before Tony can even think to run, Loki grabs him by the hair and pulls him back. Tony struggles, because that’s all he can do, his head pounding, and his legs hurting and elbows him hard in the stomach. Loki grunts and has to back away, but he’s quick and manages to grab Tony by the back of his hospital gown. The collar of the cotton chokes Tony and his feet slip against the floor. He hits the ground with a sharp thud and sees stars, groaning.

Loki’s on top of him, then, his weight bearing down on him, and his pale, smooth hands wrap around Tony’s throat and starts squeezing.

Tony manages to get a knee up and nail him right between the legs.

Loki cringes and Tony pushes him away, stumbling to his feet. Loki stands as well, and they grapple, but finally, Tony finds a surge of strength from somewhere and he shoves him in the chest, as hard as possible.

There’s a staircase right behind them and Loki falls, rolling down the steps, his head cracking against the floor with a sickening thud, and there’s blood everywhere, spilling out in a vivid pool around his head.

Even from the top, he can see how Loki’s eyes go pale and blank.

_Huh._

_If he gets up and starts charging at me like every Scream movie ever, I’m gonna shoot myself. I don’t even care anymore._

* * *

“How many stitches?” Tony peers at the wound, curiously.

“Five.” Steve winces when Tony’s piano fingers lightly graze the little metal lines.

“My hero,” he teases.

“Shut up, Tony.” Steve rolls his eyes.

Apparently, all it took for Steve to get over his embarrassment was to get bludgeoned in the back of the head by Tony’s murdering ex-lover.

Tony leans in. “I have a deal to live up to, hero.”

The blush returns.

“Uh, are you sure?” Steve asks, hesitantly.

Tony grins. “I wouldn’t be saying that if I weren’t sure.”

He leans in and kisses Steve, unbearably soft, just enough to feel the chapped texture of his mouth against his. He deepens it, despite wanting to take it slow between them, and practically crawls into Steve’s lap, bearing him down onto the bed.

It’s quick work of their clothes afterwards.

After they’re done, Tony sinks back against the pillows, ignoring how much he desperately wants a shower right now, and turns into the body edge of Steve’s shoulder.

“Well?” Tony sighs. “Isn’t that what you hoped would happen between us last night?” he teases.

Steve clears his throat, his voice a little rough. “Somehow, I think this is better.”

Tony gives him a dizzy, almost drunk, grin. “I’m glad you feel that way,” he hums.

When he turns onto his side to make himself comfortable, he spots the red and gold frosted cupcake lying pathetically on Tony’s bedside table.

“Oh, hey, I forgot about this,” he murmurs, reaching over Steve’s body and snatching it up.

“Do you usually have random cupcakes lying around?” Steve asks, sleepily.

“No, it’s actually my birthday.”

Steve blinks and lifts his head. “It’s your birthday today, and you didn’t say anything?”

Tony shrugs. “Why would I?”

Steve groans and looks at him with fond exasperation. “Tony, you know that’s a big deal, right?”

“No?” Tony offers. “Honestly, it’s just another day for me. My dad was never big on celebrations. Only my mum and butler really made an effort, and they’re both dead now, so…” he trails off, not wanting to look like some pathetic little rich boy who was never loved.

Steve softens and grips him tightly.

Tony clears his throat. “Hey, you wanna share it?”

If he’s trying this whole new-leaf-due-to-near-death-experiences thing, he might as well try being unselfish with tasty desserts.

Steve smiles. “No, you go ahead. It’s for your birthday.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine,” Tony says, quietly, and takes a sweet bite of the cupcake, chewing it down thoughtfully.

* * *

Tony wakes up with a start for the tenth time in Steve Roger’s bed.

_You have got to be fucking kidding me._

He lifts his head, to where Steve is curled up in his chair, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Kill me now,” he moans and collapses onto the bed. 

“Uh, Tony, you okay?”

“No,” he mutters. “I am so fucking done.”

“With what?”

“With everything,” Tony says, pitifully.

The bed dips down a little from where Steve sits on the edge, gingerly.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Steve offers.

Tony sighs and turns to the side so that he can peer at Steve. It takes him a while, but he manages to get through the explanation for what seems like the hundredth time.

“And I thought it was going to be the married douchebag I was sleeping with, and in my defence, he did try and kill us both, but turns out it isn’t ‘cause I still fucking died and it’s still fucking Saturday,” Tony finishes, pathetically.

Steve takes a deep breath and pats him on the hand.

Tony groans. “You think I’m a crazy person, don’t you?”

“Just a little?” Steve says, weakly.

Tony groans again, throwing his hand over his eyes.

“Hey, Tony, it’s okay,” Steve soothes. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

Tony peeks through his fingers. “Why would you help me?”

He understands all the other Steves – there was at least some sort of interaction between him and them before they decided to help them. But this one, this one barely knows him.

Steve shrugs. “You need my help, don’t you?”

“Wow,” Tony mutters. “You are just like a… naturally nice guy, aren’t you?”

Steve’s ears turn red. “Well…”

“And you’re even going to be modest. Great.” Tony sighs and manages to roll off the bed. He stretches loudly, cracking his bones. “Okay, I’m going to grab a shower back at my dorm, and I’ll meet you, _again_ , at the diner for pancakes, so we can start sleuthing again. _Joy_.”

Steve nods. “Sounds like a good idea.”

“Lovely,” Tony says, dramatically, and leans down, kissing Steve on the cheek.

He ignores Steve’s embarrassment and surprise and redresses, marching out the door. He passes by a stunned Bucky Barnes.

“Shut up, Barnes. Not in the mood,” he says, lazily, striding past.

This time around, he has no fucks to give and a fuckton of reasons why he should, so he punches Ty in the face, breaking his nose, when he tries to waylay Tony on his way to his dorm.

He falls on top of his bed with a groan and gives Morgan the finger when he starts his birthday spiel.

“Come on, Tony,” Morgan cajoles, dragging him off the bed. He brandishes the cupcake. “Here, look, I made you a cupcake. Red and gold frosting, your favourite colours.”

_Wait. The cupcake._

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, flatly.

Morgan looks at him, confused.

“It’s _you_?” he says, incredulously. “This whole time, it’s you? Every goddamn time, it was _you_.”

Morgan blinks ( _ever the perfect con-artist,_ Tony thinks, bitterly). “Tony, what are you talking about?”

“The cupcake,” Tony says, coldly. “What did you put in it?”

Morgan’s face flickers with fear before smoothening out. “What-what d’you mean? What do you think I put in it? It’s just a cupcake.”

“Like hell,” Tony spits, stalking forwards. “The last loop, that was the only fucking loop that I ate the cupcake and I still fucking died. So, it’s you. It fucking has to be.”

“What _loop_? What are you talking about, Tony? You’re starting to sound crazy,” Morgan blusters.

Tony grits his teeth and then, smiles. “Fine. Then, we’ll share it.”

Morgan looks like a deer caught in headlights. “What?”

“I said, we’ll share it,” Tony repeats.

“What, no. Tony, I got this for _your_ birthday,” Morgan insists.

“Yeah, and since it’s my birthday, I want to share it with you.” Tony pushes the cupcake towards him. “Eat some.”

“No, Tony. It’s yours.”

“Eat some, Morgan,” Tony says, dangerously.

“But I got it for your birthday!”

“I don’t care. I said, _eat some_.”

When Tony pushes it towards Morgan’s mouth, close enough that the frosting threatens to touch his lips, Morgan bats it away like it’s a rattlesnake. It falls onto the ground with a pathetic little plop, the frosting sinking into the carpet.

Tony watches as Morgan’s face contorts into an expression of fury.

“Why couldn’t you just eat the damn cupcake and put us all out of our misery?” he asks, disgusted.

Tony shakes his head. “What the fuck, Morgan? Why do you want to kill me?” he demands.

Morgan grimaces. “You don’t even know how much your existence just sucks the life out of everyone around you, do you?”

Tony rolls his eyes.

It’s not the first time he’s heard that, but Howard Stark has no bearing on him anymore.

“You took everything from me, Tony. Everything you have, it should be mine, and just because my dad was a fucking idiot, I have to follow you around like a dog and beg for scraps. Well, no, not anymore. When you’re dead and Howard’s dead, well, then, everything will come to me, won’t it? It’s not like Howard can have another kid now. He’s too old and useless, and I’ll finally get what I deserved.”

“Yeah, that we can both agree on,” Tony mutters and reels back, punching Morgan across the face.

Morgan stumbles back, clutching at his bleeding nose, and with a shout, he lunges for Tony, sending both of them crashing onto the ground.

“What the fuck, Morgan? Don’t you think this is overreacting, just a little, teensy, tiny bit?” Tony grunts, when Morgan jams his elbow into his kidneys.

_Oh, fuck you._

“Why can’t you just fucking die?” Morgan mutters, scrambling to wrap his hands around Tony’s throat. “How did you-how did you even figure it out?”

“Guh,” Tony makes a noise, frantically shoving away Morgan’s hands. “You’ve killed me before, you douchebag!” he bites out in an ugly tone.

Tony knees him right in the crotch and Morgan cowers, clutching between his legs. Tony stumbles to his feet, grabs his desk lamp and slams it down, without much ceremony, onto Morgan’s head.

Morgan groans, and his eyes roll back into his head.

Tony sighs and falls back onto his bed.

“See, this is why I fucking hate my birthdays.”

* * *

The police drag Morgan out of there in handcuffs. Tony watches grimly, but triumphant, from behind a yellow tape (he has no particular familial attachment to Morgan to make him _not_ feel bad when the bastard got what was coming to him). Bruce was kind enough to analyse the cupcake, and Tony pumped his fist when he read out the name of some obscure poison mixed into both the batter for the cupcake _and_ the frosting. That, coupled with the defensive wounds from Tony’s altercation with him, the scarring from the numerous injuries he sustained during the time loops, and the CCTV footage that puts Morgan in the dorm kitchen _making_ the cupcakes because he’s a stupid fucking idiot, in Tony’s exact words, was enough for the cops to cart him away.

In Tony’s defence, if he were going to kill someone, there’s no way anyone would be able to tie him to the crime.

Ergo, Morgan’s a stupid fucking idiot.

Tony’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he’s certain that it’s Howard, calling to scream at him for being such a public embarrassment and for getting his cousin thrown in jail.

He doesn’t particularly care.

“Tony! Hey, Tony!”

Tony turns around at the sound of the familiar voice, only to see Steve pushing his way through the crowd, almost a head shorter than a lot of the other men there, to get to him.

“Tony!” Steve grasps Tony’s arms, worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh,” Tony clears his throat. “It was Morgan all along.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Steve’s eyes soften. “Are you okay?” he asks, earnestly.

Tony nods, stiffly.

Steve clearly reads something in Tony’s face, because he grabs his hands. “You want to get out of here? Grab some food?”

Tony nods, gratefully. “Food would be awesome,” he says, roughly.

Steve gives him a shy smile. “Okay, yeah, let’s do that.”

Tony lets Steve drag him away from the blinking lights of the police and ambulance sirens and the whispering of his classmates that just makes his head hurt something fierce.

He could do with some pancakes right about now.

* * *

His phone alarm beeps incessantly until Tony has enough awareness to grab it off Steve’s bedside table and throw it in the nearest trashcan. He groans and buries his face in Steve’s pillow. When he can be bothered, he manages to open his eyes, somewhat blearily, to stare at Steve sitting in front of his desk.

“Shit, you okay?”

His eyes snap open and he jackknifes up, staring at Steve, helplessly.

Steve gives him a sympathetic look. “Hangover, huh?”

Tony desperately wants to start crying.

“What?” he whispers.

Steve’s face breaks out into a smile. “Just kidding.”

“What?” he demands, his voice growing louder.

“I was… joking?” Steve offers, weakly, placing a glass of water on the bedside table beside Tony. “It’s Sunday. You made it!” he says, lamely.

Tony scowls.

“Not funny?” Steve guesses, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You are dead,” Tony declares. “Get down here.”

Tony wraps a hand around the back of Steve’s neck and pulls. Steve topples onto him with a loud yelp, and Tony takes advantage of his discombobulation to kiss him hard on the mouth. Steve leans into the kiss and shuffles closer so that he’s bearing down onto Tony, with his hips jutting between Tony’s legs.

The door swings open.

“Oh, come on, not again!” Bucky complains.

Tony breaks away from Steve and looks up. “Out!” he says, sternly.

“No, _no_ , it’s my fucking room, Stark,” Bucky declares, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tony scowls, grabbing the pillow off the side of the bed and throws it at Bucky as hard as he can.

Bucky gives him the finger and closes the door, just as the pillow hits it.

Tony’s about to roll off the bed and run after him, but Steve thoroughly distracts him when he finds the tendon in his neck and bites down.

“Fuck!’

Steve chuckles.

“Still hate your birthday?”

“Well, technically, today’s the day _after_ my birthday,” he babbles.

“Tony?” Steve looks at him, expectantly.

Tony sighs. “Fine,” he says, reluctantly. “I might be persuaded to look at it in a different light.”

Steve grins. “Good. And if you continue to be good, we’ll go for gratitude pancakes.”

Tony frowns. “What do I have to be grateful for? _I_ was the one who figured out that it was Morgan trying to kill me, remember?” he points out.

Steve raises an eyebrow and proceeds to show exactly _why_ Tony should be grateful.

Tony promises to buy Steve all the gratitude pancakes he wants, as long as Steve promises to never stop doing _that_.


End file.
